“The marines again, Wash—our marines—going south. I bet they’re ordered into the fight. You heard what the assistant to our commissioner said to Surgeon-Major Brown: ‘There’s likely to be some hard work stopping the Heinies on the road out there east of Paris’—the road” Don explained, the Major said “to a place they call Rheims. The Huns have got as far as the river Marne, and that’s where they were in 1914. But I’ll bet they don’t get much farther—not if our boys are going into it!”
“Is dey enny cullud sojahs in de fight?” asked Wash.
“I guess not right at this place, but I think there are, somewhere along the line. Someone told me so—a regiment or more of them.”
“Well, den, what dey wants tuh do is jes’ give ’em some razzors ’en say tu ’em: ‘Look-a-yer, yo’ niggahs, dese yer Germans ain’t no real white folks—dat is real qual’ty—dey is jes’ po’ whites ’en no ’count ’en dey hates niggahs. Now den, go in ’en carve ’em up!’ Sho, man, dey wouldn’t be no German army in ’bout fo’ minutes.”
“Why, that’s right, Wash! Great idea! I’m going to see General Pershing about that. Or, say, how would it do to tell those colored soldiers that every Heinie’s a brother to a ’possum, or that a great big flock of fat chickens is roosting low over in the German trenches! Wouldn’t they drop down on those Huns and scare ’em to death?”
“Aw, gwan, you’s kiddin’ me, yo’ is! Say, ain’t we gwine tuh stop somewhar’s ’en see dese marines go by an’ holler at ’em lak we done—?”
“No, indeed. We’ve got to go on and get back,” said Don. “Orders are to report near LaFerté, to a French officer. The evacuation hospitals down there are all French, I guess. And now all the army down there is French, too, I expect, so we’ll bring in their wounded mostly. But if our boys—”
“Does dese yer Frenchers all yell an’ hollah when dey’s hurt bad?” Wash asked. So far he had seen but two of them, both seriously wounded, and they had done a good deal of groaning and calling for water. But the question went unanswered, for just at the moment the ambulance was compelled to veer off nearly into the ditch in order to dodge a broken-down car and the ever passing lorries, the negro being bounced almost off his seat.
“Ah doan keer whar we goes tu from yere, jes’ so’s we git somewhar’s whar de sun shines lak hit do now fo’ a little while. Ah suttenly doan lak dis puddle bizness what we has mos’ de time sense Ah ben in dis yere France. Hit sure am some wet country. Now dis day ain’ so bad, so Ah’ll jes’ tap wood—” and he rapped himself on the head.